Now, Just One Minute
by Abracadebra
Summary: The challenge: Take one minute or so of an episode and write it from the perspective of any of the characters. First up: What was going through Newkirk's head when LeBeau and Carter started singing "This is the Army"?


**NOW, JUST ONE MINUTE**

_Author's Note: This is in response to the one minute challenge (#369), which I found on an old thread and reposted a few months ago. (So while I'm technically responding to my own challenge, it was not my own idea.) The challenge is to take one minute from an episode and rewrite it from the point of view of one of the characters. So here's a little something from The Safecracker Suite. I'm leaving this story open in hopes that I'll find the inspiration to write a few more one-minute challenges._

**Chapter 1: I Don't Sing**.

I thought we were done for when that Gestapo captain flung open the curtain to the alcove where Alfie was working on the safe. It was sheer luck that Carter, LeBeau and I were standing right there. We spun around and like the good little soldiers we are, we got right into formation, blocking the Kraut's path. It was lucky for us that Captain Guenther didn't see Alf scramble to his hiding space above the safe. Blimey, that Alfie is a spry old geezer.

I tried to tell myself Alf would be fine. I thought Louis and Carter would be all right too, seeing as we were all together, and Colonel Hogan and Colonel Klink were nearby, and Kinch was keeping a lookout. I thought that if I could only just not look right at Guenther, I'd be all right too. Just stay quiet and take stock, I told myself. Know what's happening, and you'll soon know what to do.

But I never thought Andrew Bleeding Carter would pick that moment to burst into song.

I don't sing, you see. Not unless I've had a few, anyway. And unlike Carter, who'd been nipping at the Riesling all evening. I hadn't had a drop. The only drop in, on or near me was the sweat pouring down my face as I realized how quickly things had gone pear-shaped.

Leave it to Carter to do something completely barmy, like announce to a room of Krauts that we're singing a song by Irving Berlin. "Which is also the name of a city in your wonderful country," he chirped. Yes, Andrew. It's the capital of Nazi Germany, where they absolutely love patriotic works by American Jewish composers.

And leave it to LeBeau to chime right in. Those two do like to sing, and I will admit, they're far better at it than I am. I was impressed with how quickly my little French mate fell into harmony with Carter. I was still standing there feeling halfway between terrified and murderous.

What I want to know is, how did they both know that song so well? I'd never bleeding well heard of it until they started singing it in the barracks a week ago. They said it comes from a film that came out just this year – 1943*. I haven't seen a film in quite some time, as I've been a guest of the Third Reich since I was lad, and even Carter has been here close to a year. I suppose one of our new arrivals taught it to them, and then Carter and LeBeau started belting it morning, noon and night so even I learned a line or two. But they knew the whole thing.

I suppose it's a witty tune if you like American music. Just between us, though, it's just like a Yank to sing about private rooms, telephones, and breakfast in bed. Blimey, what a soft life they must lead. Just for starters, who has a telephone?** Nobody in my street, I can tell you that much. Of course, mansions in Mayfair have them, but you won't find them in a two-up, two-down council house in Stepney. There's one at the post office and one at the bank if I ever needed one. But who on earth would I call?

I wonder if I looked as bewildered as I felt when LeBeau started beating a rhythm on his tray and Carter chimed in on the first verse. All I can say is that it's a ruddy good thing I've been on stage. Trouper that I am, I saluted, mouthed the words and smiled while I mimed putting a telephone to my ear. As I said, we don't have such luxuries where I come from. Before I fell in with Colonel Hogan's merry band, I'd never talked on a telephone. But I'd been to the pictures, so I did know how it was done.

I even stepped up and delivered a line of the song, even though I wanted nothing more than to turn and run and take all my mates with me, away from that Gestapo goon. At a minimum, I wanted to make sure Alfie was out of harm's way, since I was the one what dragged him into this mess, and he is quite old and a civilian to boot. I couldn't live with myself if he got killed by an angry Gestapo captain. It's funny to think he was safer in Pentonville.

While we were singing, Guenther poked around the alcove and somehow didn't find Alfie or notice anything suspicious, including tools or dynamite or my eyes darting about or the rivulets of sweat that by now were gushing like a waterfall off my forehead. By the time Guenther cleared off and our little number ended, I couldn't pull the curtains shut fast enough.

Now, I know I have a reputation for being rather a hothead, but I see it differently. I'm quite patient with Carter. Usually, even when he gets on my nerves, I don't want to punch him or cripple him. I want my mates to be safe. I might say something to bring him back in line, but he's a clever lad who knows the difference between irritation and loathing. The fact is, I quite like Carter. He puts up with all my rubbish, so I tolerate his quirks. Most of the time.

But when he stepped out of that curtain again to announce a second song, I yanked him back with everything in me. I don't mind saying that LeBeau was not a model of restraint either.

Luckily, Carter's shoulders went right back into their sockets easily. He'll be sore for a few days, but at least we got out of there alive. Being Carter, he gratefully assumed that we were pulling him to safety as the explosion shattered the air, so he kept thanking LeBeau and me.

On the way back to the Luft Stalag that night, Carter thanked me yet again while he was rolling his shoulders to try to get some feeling back into them. I told him to shut up, and reminded him that I don't sing and that he'd done a ruddy stupid thing.

"Yeah, but it worked," he said with his goofy grin. "And we sounded really good. We ought to sing together more often. I'm pretty sure that between LeBeau and me, we could teach you to carry a tune, Newkirk."

I cuffed him on the head, but I couldn't hold back a smile.

I would never say this out loud because it's so bloody wet, but I believe Carter has a guardian angel. Maybe it's the same one that flits about near Colonel Hogan. There's no other explanation for how we got through that fiasco, or the one before it, or the one before that.

And if he doesn't have a guardian angel, I suppose I'll have to apply for the job. Somebody's got to do it.

* * *

*_Before the film came out in August 1943, "This Is the Army" was on Broadway (July 4, 1942, to September 26, 1942) and then toured military bases through February 1943. But I'm assuming Carter did not see it; he just heard the songs from recently captured fliers who had seen the movie._

**_As late as 1970, only 35% of British homes had telephones. Phones were a luxury item prewar. They were much more common in the U.S._


End file.
